


Shortbreads

by Remembertherandler



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Baking, Domestic, Fluff, Holiday, Kissing, M/M, Schmoop, rhinkholidayficathon2k16, sweetness - literal and figurative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 04:08:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8953147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Remembertherandler/pseuds/Remembertherandler
Summary: Back home in North Carolina, things move at a slower pace. The hustle and bustle of New York had been exhilarating, but an old fashioned Southern Christmas was just what they needed.  “Stop distracting me,” Link said finally, pushing him away with a smile.  “Mmmm,” Rhett said, following him and nuzzling his neck again. “I can’t help it. You’re distracting me.”  “Show some self control for once in your life, McLaughlin,” Link laughed. “Let me roll out these dang cookies.”





	

Despite the Weather Channel's persistent and increasingly shrill predictions of Snowpocalypse! for the Carolinas, the dusting of white inside was significantly more impressive than outside.

Rhett leaned against his mother's spotless kitchen table, watching as Link attempted to shovel the drifts of flour on the countertop with shaking hands. "Do you need some—"

"No. I'm fine," Link interrupted without turning around.

Rhett folded his arms and, despite the deep desire to fix the situation, kept his mouth shut.

It had been a wildly successful but very long and stressful week in New York, and they’d arrived home excited and exhausted. All Rhett had wanted to do was relax with some spiked hot chocolate in front of the fireplace, but Link had insisted on making cookies first.

He'd set up his phone to play his Christmas playlist on the little Bluetooth speaker in the kitchen, and Merle’s _Goin’ Home for Christmas_ album was the only sound in the house, besides Link's frustrated mutterings. Their wonderful wives had given them the gift of a morning alone together: Christy and the kids were with her folks for the day, and Jessie, the boys, and Rhett’s folks were out to breakfast and then heading up to the Christmas tree farm at Jordan Lake.

It felt weird to be alone in his folks' new house. Had this been the old place, with the basketball goal out front and his (and Link's) initials carved in his bedroom windowsill, he might not feel the same tension in his shoulders. But as it was, he felt uncharacteristically awkward, and despite the cheerful holiday music and swags of fake evergreen over the kitchen window (adorned with new red and white Christmas curtains of course), a little melancholy.

"Are you sure you don't need some help?" Rhett finally asked, sipping from his mug and squinting.

"Why, Rhett?" Link snapped, concentrating on dumping the flour back into the mixing bowl. "You think I can't make the dang cookies? I'm a grown-ass man who doesn't know how to bake freaking cookies?" Link stirred the ingredients, blowing fallen hair off of his forehead.

Rhett suppressed a chuckle, his fleeting melancholy replaced by amusement and a significant dusting of mischief. He wandered over and heaved himself up to sit on the counter, right next to Link's cookie assembly line.

Link was as ridiculous and beautiful as he’d ever been, cheeks flushed, eyebrows creased in frustration, sleeves rolled haphazardly and Mama Di’s frilly Christmas apron tied around his waist. He shoved Rhett’s leg out of the way with a gentle nudge of his hip, and warmth spread through him at that simple point of contact. It always had, though.

Rhett rubbed his chin, scratching at his beard as Link cut the butter into the shortbread dough; small chunks flew up from his butter knife, flecking the apron he wore.

Despite Rhett’s looming, Link continued to ignore his presence and focused instead on the evidently very serious work at hand. He placed the bowl under the mixer, lowered the paddle, and flicked it on.

Well, that wouldn’t do at all. Rhett wanted Link’s attention. He always wanted Link’s attention. It was time to try another tack. Rhett leaned over again. “You probably want to…”

“I know how to mix cookie dough.”

“I’m just sayin’, you need to allow for humidity and—”

“Dangit, Rhett!” Link threw his hands up and turned off the mixer, then turned to look at him. “Why you always gotta pick?”

“I’m not pickin’, I’m just sayin’—”

“Yeah, you’re always just sayin’.” Link fiddled with the mixer, adjusting the speed before turning it back on.

Rhett looked around the kitchen. It was a war zone: egg shells teetering on the edge of the sink, vanilla spilled on the white tile counter, a smear of butter on Link’s cheek—and evidently his hand—going by the smudges on his glasses and the side of the mixing bowl. Rhett gestured mutely at the kitchen and raised his eyebrows.

Link blew the hair off his forehead with a huff. “Do it your own dang self, then. What are you, my supervisor?”

Rhett laughed. “Someone’s got to be. You’ll burn the house down.”

“You’re such a jerk.”

“You love me.”

Link raised an eyebrow and turned away. “So you’d like to think.”

Rhett laughed and clambered off the counter, then wrapped his arms around Link’s middle and kissed the top of his head. “Yes, I do.”

Link hummed, then evidently remembered he was mad, because he shrugged Rhett off. “We have to get this done before they get back.”

“Why?” Rhett laughed, kissing Link’s neck; this earned him a delicious shudder.

Link leaned back, breathing deeply through his nose as Rhett nuzzled in. “It’s a surprise for your mama, remember?” Link said after a few moments.

Rhett wiggled closer, tightening his arms around Link. “She won’t care if they’re done or not. It’s the thought that counts.”

“It’s never just the thought that counts.”

“Oh, come on. She’s just happy to have us here.”

“Well, I care.”

At that, Rhett finally relented. “Can I help?”

“I don’t know, can you?” At that, Link suddenly whipped around and looked up at Rhett with a huge grin. The nostalgia rolled thick through the kitchen, warm and palpable, and Rhett leaned against the counter under the weight of it.

  


They’d been 10—well, Rhett had been 10, Link was still nine—and tasked with making cookies to bring to the class party the next day, the last day of school. Mama Di had offered to make them, but Rhett insisted it would be fun and convinced Link to help him. 

It was after school, and his mama had just put _Country Christmas_ by Loretta Lynn on the turntable in the family room, and retreated there to put her feet up with a mug of something warm and an admonition to not break or burn anything.

Link had been nervous, more nervous than usual. “I don’t want to mess it up,” he’d said in a small voice.

“You won’t!” Rhett said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Come on, it’s easy, you just follow the directions.”

Soon they were deep into the process, flour in their hair, interrupted only twice by a mock-fight and a race around the kitchen table that earned them a hollered admonition from the living room to “settle down!” Rhett had insisted on cutting out the cookies; he didn’t trust Link with the sharp edges. Link grew antsy, just watching.

“Can I help?” he asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“I don’t know, can you?” Rhett replied without looking.

“You’re such a jerk!”

Link’s automatic response to Rhett’s teasing never failed to put a smile on Rhett’s face. “You can decorate ‘em all when they’re done.”

Link grinned and Rhett felt warm through.

Just as he put the first tray in the oven, and twisted the timer to 10 minutes, Link yelped. Rhett spun around, his heart pounding. “Are you OK?”

Link’s eyes were wide and he was pointing mutely out the kitchen window. Just beyond, in the open space between the house and the stand of sycamores, snow—actual snow—was falling. Rhett threw the potholders on the floor and raced toward the door, yanking Link by the collar and pulling him along behind.

They ran out into the backyard, immediately sticking their tongues out to catch the snow, giggling at the flakes caught in each other’s hair and eyelashes. The snow was barely a dusting, but they made a valiant effort to make a snowman, which quickly devolved into forming snow pellets and belting each other in the head with them. This, inevitably, resulted in a furious wrestling match, hurt and quickly soothed feelings, and Link’s wild, high-pitched giggles.

Finally, Rhett burst breathless back into the kitchen, pulling Link behind him, clothes damp and fingers tingling. They stopped short when they noticed the pall of smoke hanging low in the kitchen. Mama Di was opening the kitchen window, a smoking tray of cookies in the sink below.

Link’s mouth worked soundlessly, his face pale and eyes wide with fear.

Rhett hated when Link looked like that. Hated it more than anything in the world. “It’s OK Link, honestly,” Rhett said, grasping his shoulder and squeezing. “She’s not mad. Are you mama?”

“Well, I’m not happy,” she replied with a sigh. “But I’m not mad. It’s what I signed up for, having boys. Lord help me.”

“I’m sorry,” Link finally managed in a small, shaking voice.

“Oh sugar, it’s OK,” she said, glancing over at him with a fond smile. “You can make it up to me someday.” 

  


“I thought she’d never forgive me,” Link said quietly.

“She didn’t give it a second thought. Honestly.”

Link looked up at him and rested a hand on his cheek; Rhett leaned into the caress. “I love you, ya dork,” Link whispered.

Rhett smiled, then leaned down, kissing him gently on the forehead. He pulled back, looking over the face that had represented warmth, and comfort, and home his whole life. He leaned down again and kissed him, chaste, tender kisses that quickly grew more insistent.

“Stop distracting me,” Link said finally, pushing him away with a smile. 

“Mmmm,” Rhett said, following him and nuzzling his neck again. “I can’t help it. You’re distracting me.”

“Show some self control for once in your life, McLaughlin,” Link laughed. “Let me roll out these dang cookies.” 

Rhett finally relented with a sigh, and retreated to the other end of the counter, pouring himself a cup of coffee and offering obviously helpful advice and extended digressions from his perch on the stool throughout the process.

Finally, Link put the first tray of cookies into the oven and closed the door carefully, a look of relief washing over his pale face.

Rhett burst into laughter. “You look like you just defused a bomb, man. Relax.”

Link chucked the potholders at Rhett’s head. “Make me.”

Without a word, Rhett stood and closed the space between them in three strides. Pressing Link back against the counter, he wove his hands into Link’s hair, looking down into his eyes, which sparkled with challenge and mischief. Rhett chuckled and tugged on Link’s hair, earning him fluttering eyelids and a bitten-off moan. Encouraged, he leaned down and kissed his way along Link’s jaw.

“Rhett…” Link groaned. “That timer is going off any minute. Don’t tease.”

Rhett grinned against the soft skin under Link’s ear. “Ah, now where’s the fun in that?” he breathed into Link’s ear as he pulled back, his fingers working open the top button of Link’s shirt.

Link’s eyebrows quirked as he watched Rhett’s fingers toy with the skiff of hair that stuck out from his shirt before he looked up at Rhett over the rims of his glasses.

Rhett smirked, freeing a second button, hand slipping inside, calloused fingertips running over Link’s protruding clavicle.

Link swallowed, his Adam’s apple gliding along his slender neck. He hooked his fingers into the belt loops of Rhett’s jeans. “You want fun, huh?” He pulled his lower lip between his teeth.

Before Rhett had a chance to respond affirmatively to the–now obviously rhetorical–question, Link’s mouth was on his, insistent and hungry.

Link pushed Rhett backward, shoving a chair out of the way before slamming Rhett into the far wall, his hands running along Rhett’s torso, lifting the soft cotton of his henley, exposing a small strip of his stomach.

Rhett leaned into the kiss, his hands wrapping around Link’s waist and then up over the buttons of his shirt to ghost over the peaks of Link’s nipples.

Link moaned into Rhett’s mouth, his lips falling open as the kiss melted into heavy breaths and ghosting lips. Link stood on the tips of his toes and kissed down the length of Rhett’s neck settling into the crook, nipping and lapping. 

“Oh, ho, ho,” Rhett’s chest vibrated with soft and excited laughter. “Oh but Link... the cookies,” he teased, lolling his head, exposing more skin for Link to worship.

The scent of the baking shortbreads drifted through the kitchen as Link’s greedy hands cupped and groped Rhett’s round ass and firm chest. “What cookies?” Link breathed.

Rhett hummed, satisfied and amused. Link always had a plan, everything scheduled and organized. So Rhett relished in the fact that he was able to so easily derail the man that hungrily suckled at his throat. He closed his hands around Link’s waist and spun him around, swapping their positions and pressing Link against the wall.

A small gasp slipped between Link’s lips before Rhett captured them with his own.

Rhett’s fingers laced with Link’s as he lifted them over his head, pinning them to the wall under one of his own. His other hand trailed down to wrap around the small of Link’s back, settling just above his pert bottom.

Link rocked forward into Rhett, pressing their bodies together, struggling weakly against Rhett’s hold on his wrist.

Rhett could feel himself responding, his jeans beginning to feel tight as Link bucked into his thigh. There was a heat in the atmosphere, like the friction of their insistent and eager bodies was setting the air alight. But the smell grew smoky. He pulled back from Link’s hungry lips.

Link groaned in protest, his neck craning to recapture Rhett’s mouth. “Rhett…” he whined.

Rhett’s eyes fluttered open to a haze of drifting wisps.

Link’s brows wrinkled for a moment before his eyes shot open, wide and worried. “Shit!” He ripped himself free of Rhett’s grasp and shoved past him.

Rhett stepped out of the way, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he watched Link rush for the oven, turning it off and throwing open the door to a wall of smoke that spilled into the kitchen.

“Shit. Shit. Shit!” Link pulled on the oven mitts and grabbed the cookie sheet, throwing it onto the stovetop.

Rhett tip toed to the counter and through the thinning smoke, he could clearly see the thoroughly blackened tray of cookies.

Link whipped his head around, his eyebrows hitched, lips pursed, looking up at Rhett.

Rhett couldn’t help the smile that quirked the corner of his lip. He knew Link was irritated, and rightfully so; but he was so perfectly cross that Rhett couldn’t help the laugh that exploded from his chest.

Link threw off the oven mitts and crossed his arms over his chest. “Funny, is it?” He narrowed his eyes.

Rhett covered his mouth with his hand, trying to rein in his laughter, his chest quaking with the effort.

Link sighed, long and deep as his furrowed brow softened and the corner of his mouth began to pull tight, a smile forming.

Rhett could see Link straining to keep his lips in line, his jaw clenching before his anger melted away and his cheek rounded as his lopsided smile spread across his face.

“Dang it, Rhett!” he laughed, shoving Rhett backward.

Rhett grinned, rubbing at his shoulder as he winced, feigning injury. He knew he shouldn’t, but he just couldn’t help but pile on with the teasing.

Link rolled his eyes, shaking his head. He groaned as he looked over at the cookies. “You know everyone is going to assume that this is _my_ fault.” He grabbed a lifter and pryed up one of the blackened snowflakes.

“Isn’t it?”

“Why you little!” Link waved the spatula at Rhett, gritting his teeth.

Rhett smiled and grabbed a chair, sliding it between them and running to stand behind the table. “If you hadn’t looked so delicious in that apron, I might have been able to resist.” He waggled his brow, his tongue darting out between his lips.

Link slapped the spatula into his hand and darted after Rhett, chasing him around the table a few times, before finally pinning him in the corner.

Rhett reached out and pulled Link to his chest, snatching the spatula and tossing it onto the table. He smiled down at Link, his fingers running through the soft hair on the sides of his head. “So beautiful.”

“Not bad yourself, McLaughlin.” Link’s eyes glittered, reflecting back the snowy scenery outside.

Rhett leaned down, tilting his chin, his eyes darting between Link’s perfect features.

Link wrapped his arms around Rhett’s neck and stood tall, preparing his lips with a flick of his tongue.

Just as their lips ghosted over one another’s, the smoke detector overhead screamed out in alarm.

They looked up at it and then back to one another for a moment before erupting into laughter that nearly drowned out the alarm itself.

Rhett’s heart soared as their laughter filled the sprawling house with a joyous chorus that made it feel truly like home. As it faded and Rhett’s hands slid up and down Link’s arms, he leaned in and pressed his lips to Link’s flour-dusted forehead. “I love you, you cookie-burning dork.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading our holiday sweetness. All the best to you and yours! <3
> 
> RTR & TGH


End file.
